


A Voice Like Honey

by SpookyKing



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mutual Pining, Tragic Romance, Unrequited Love, basically brynjolf and cyraelle are mutually pining but both think their love is unrequited, happy endings are for the weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyKing/pseuds/SpookyKing
Summary: The Thieves Guild. The beaten down bar in the sewers of Riften, of all places. However, one thing kept drawing her away from her Dark Brotherhood family and back into that revolting cistern.(Kudos are appreciated, Comments even more!)
Relationships: Brynjolf/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	A Voice Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK BACK AGAIN  
> with fanfic about a 7 year old game,  
> anyways a bit of background on Cyraelle who I'll probably be writing a lot about:  
> She's an Altmer who fled from summerset isle for being a wanted criminal and came to Skyrim. She discovered the Dark Brotherhood and thought "dope this is way better than being some dumbass dragonborn"  
> Fun fact: she lost her sight at a young age and used some fucked up magic to get it back and now her eyes are permanently fucked.  
> Have fun.

Cyraelle always much preferred the life of an assassin over that of a thief. Why would she leave her cushy place in the Dawnstar sanctuary, all the gold she could ever spend, a following that revered her, and an endless stream of easy contracts for:  
The Thieves Guild. The beaten down bar in the sewers of Riften, of all places. However, one thing kept drawing her away from her Dark Brotherhood family and back into that revolting cistern.  
It wasn’t the gold, she had plenty of that, the jobs she would do for Delvin and Vex could never compare to the money she made for assassinating one mark. Nor was it the atmosphere, the flagon couldn’t hold a candle to her sanctuary, and her place alongside the Night Mother. Mercer Frey was insufferable to deal with, Vex continued to doubt her despite her excellent performance (and amount of self control to keep her blade sheathed when she had the Thieves Guild uniform on), Delvins scolding everytime she was forced to drop a job grated at her nerves (if she stole from one of her Dark Brotherhood marks she’d be accused of killing a Thieves Guild mark), and by Sithis do not get her started on the smell.  
What continued to draw her to that place, was Brynjolf. The man who had recruited her in the first place. He had been the only one to believe in her. She remembered when they had first met,  
“Never done an honest days work in your life for all that coin you’re carryin’, eh Lass?”  
Her head had whipped around to the voice addressing her from the wall of the Bee and Barb. To be entirely fair, Brynjolf was right, she was carrying nearly 300 septims in blood money. She wasn’t about to give that away.  
“I’m sorry, what?”  
“I’m saying you’ve got the coin, but you didn’t earn a septim of it honestly. I can tell.”  
“What did you have in mind?”  
“I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform, but I need a pair of extra hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well-paid.”  
Yeah they’re well-paid in mine too, nothing he could pay her could even compare to the money she got for each contract. However, she felt compelled to perform the job. Maybe it was his unremarkable charm, her curiosity, or her inability to deny making a bit of gold.  
“What would you have me do?”  
“Simple.... I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing.”  
Oh this was easy, she could pick any lock she came across, and pick pocketing someone in plain sight was nothing compared to slitting their throat in a shadowed alleyway, just out of sight of the town guards. Typically she did not question any contract she was given, she had a job, she did it, she got paid. No questions asked. It wasn’t her business. But this time, she could not contain her curiosity.  
“Why would we plant this ring on Brand-Shei?”  
“There's someone that wants to see him put out of business permanently. That's all you need to know. Now, you tell me when you're ready and we'll get started.”  
Now if that’s what they wanted, she could just kill him. She halted any further questioning and resisted the urge to advertise her services as an assassin, if they truly needed the Dark Brotherhood, she would hear about it in due time. Word of the black sacrament gets around quickly.  
“Fair enough, let’s get started.”  
She had pulled off the job without a hitch, it was ten times easier than anything else she had ever done. Pick a lock, plant a ring, slip out. Watch in amusement as Brand-Shei is arrested.  
What she found herself enjoying most was Brynjolf’s look of pride in her. The way his voice held an unimaginable joy.  
“Looks like I chose the right person for the job. And here you go... your payment, just as I promised. The way things have been going around here, it's a relief that our plan went off without a hitch.”  
There was that unmistakable charm, the lilt in his voice that could draw any person in and keep them there. He could sell honey to a bee.  
“What has been going on?”  
“Bah. My organization's been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that's just how it goes. But never mind that, you did the job and you did it well. Best of all, there's more where that came from... if you think you can handle it.”  
She knew she could handle whatever mess the guild had gotten themselves into, bringing the Dark Brotherhood up from what they had been was no small feat. She had killed the Emperor of Tamriel. Reinstating Riften's petty thieves guild would be child's play.  
“I can handle it. I assure you.”  
“All right, then. Let's put that to the test. The group I represent has its home in the Ratway beneath Riften... a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we'll see if you've really got what it takes."  
She took him up on his offer, traveling effortlessly through the Rat Ways, silently killing any vagabond that stepped in her way. It seemed wherever she went she left a trail of bodies. 

She could never believe she would end up where she is now, that day she first entered the Flagon and saw the light in Bryns eyes as he saw her across the room. The overheard statement of “This one’s different”. It brought an unimaginable amount of joy to her. She didn’t exactly know why but she felt the need to gain his approval, to see him proud of her. No amount of praise from Delvin, subtle compliments out of Vex, or lack of threats from Maven could compare to the jump in her heart when she heard the  
“Good work, Lass.”  
However, as she rose through the ranks in the guild, quickly taking a liking to the work. The thrill of stealing was nothing compared to the rush of the kill, but it was still nice. And when contracts were silent, jobs for the Guild helped to keep the gold flowing. And the excuse to see Brynjolf made the jobs even better, everytime she entered the Flagon to take a job, or turn one in, she would stop to talk to Bryn. Even if just for a moment.

As she rose to rank of Guildmaster, and brought the guild back from the brink of destruction, Brynjolf had distanced himself. Despite their many conversations over warm tankards of mead, their adventures as Nightingales together, his frequent praise at her good work. He seemed less and less interested, even in just being friends. He seemed to be avoiding her, anytime she approached him he made some excuse as to why he didn’t have time for her. She quickly took the hint, avoiding any interaction outside of what was necessary for jobs.  
Quickly, she moved on. Marrying a strong woman from Whiterun, Brynjolf had attended the wedding, sulking in the back corner of the Temple of Mara. Almost no one but Cyraelle had noticed him. She had adopted children, and they frequently came home with stories of “Mister Brynjolf” giving them treats.  
Everytime she entered the Cistern and caught his eye, she could see the regret hidden behind his face. Everytime she reported to him on a job, the regular compliments came with less enthusiasm than before. She had started to regret her decision as well.  
Even her wife noticed something was wrong,  
“Darling, you seem distracted.”  
“It’s nothing my love, I promise.”  
“You cannot lie to me, tell me.”  
“Promise me, you won’t be mad.”  
“Anything, love, you can tell me anything.”  
Cyraelle took a deep breath, her words coming out more weak than she would have liked. She had been denying her feelings for so long, vocalizing them proved harder than first anticipated.  
“You are aware I’m in the Thieves Guild, and of my associates there.”  
“Of course,”  
“It’s…Brynjolf. I believe I’m in love with him. Have been for years.”  
“Oh,”  
“That does not mean I don’t love you, I married you because you distracted me from him. Made me feel loved in the same way he did, I thought I was over him. But every job I have to report to him makes my heart sink. Because I feel as if I missed an opportunity...”  
“Darling, life in Skyrim is short and difficult. Talk to him.”  
She took the advice, cornering Brynjolf in the Cistern. In the thankfully empty, and relatively secluded training room.  
“Lass, whatever this is about, we’ve both got better things to do.”  
“I know, very well, you have no jobs at the current moment. And my marks are not going anywhere.”  
“Lass-”  
“You cannot continue to avoid me, Bryn.”  
“I suppose I can’t, you Dark Brotherhood types are exceedingly good at getting what you want out of people.”  
“So tell me, why do you look as though someone kicked your puppy whenever I enter the room. Why you skulked in the corner of the Temple during my wedding. Why you avoid me.”  
“Lying to you would do no good, in that case, I’m in love, Lass. And I only realized it after I saw you courting that pretty lass from Whiterun. I regret not telling you sooner, but you’re married now, not a lot I can do.”  
Cyraelle was stunned out of words, somehow she knew but to hear Brynjolf say it was worse than she ever imagined.  
“I can see you aren’t interested, never were. That’s alright, Lass. You’re happy. I’m happy for you.”  
He pushed past her, and she heard the unmistakable screech of the secret entrance to the Cistern.  
By Sithis, she had fucked up.


End file.
